


A Year in Azkaban

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Azkaban, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Dreams, F/M, Hallucinations, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Prison, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban, and his only hope of survival is the shadowy figure in the corner of his cell.





	A Year in Azkaban

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DFW Triwizard Fest; we were prompted with a specific aesthetic. TW for slight violence and coarse language. One mild sexy scene is included but very brief.

March

The first month in Azkaban was the worst. Twenty years old and he would spend the next half of his life in this cell. The tattoo on the side of his neck still ached and itched, but he knew better than to touch it. XY425 would be part of him forever, an inescapable label. He thought perhaps a collar would hide it, but by the time he was forty would anyone truly care? Had he hurt anyone so deep?

Draco never ate. The guards tended to spit or piss in his food, but he wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been hungry since he was fifteen because the moment the Dark Lord entered his life Draco knew he was destined for Azkaban. Or maybe it was before then, maybe being born a Malfoy had damned him to pay for his father’s mistakes. Regardless, he thought it would have been better if the Dementors were still around. Having his soul sucked out was oddly comforting compared with the reality of two decades in this tiny hellhole.

It was cold and they had forgotten to give him a blanket. When he mentioned it to the guard he received a punch to the jaw and, “Be grateful you have a goddamn pillow.” He supposed the guard was correct. Prisoners had no rights. Kingsley Shacklebolt would fight for reform, sure, but even if the Wizengamot got their heads out of their asses Draco would bet his entire Gringotts vault that no one would remember to tell the prisoners. Sleep came in fits, minutes at a time. He shivered and shook; his teeth clacked together so often his tongue bled from being caught between them. Draco stared up at the ceiling and thought about the outside world, everything he was missing.

_I just want to see the stars again._

 

April

He was given one walk each week. Nothing special, just a trip around the compound. Draco moaned low in his throat the first time he was allowed to take more than three strides in the same direction. He hadn’t realized how much the confines of his cell affected his body. His muscles ached from the cold and lack of use, but he knew something was amiss. Not every prisoner got to walk around, and everyone treated him like dirt: something to be either ignored or stomped upon.

Many of the other prisoners were asleep. Maybe it was nighttime or perhaps they, like Draco, had no internal clock. Without the sky to gauge, there was no way to tell time by the torches lighting the stone walkway. The sound of Draco’s feet and the guards’ shoes smacking the floor reverberated loudly off the walls, enough to wake a few prisoners. Some had drawings on the walls of their cell, done in blood or some other substance Draco did not wish to consider. He shivered, but not entirely from the chill.

They stopped at the graveyard. The four guards with him didn’t need to say anything for Draco to understand why he was there. If they had their way, it was exactly where he would end up. Five years from then, maybe ten … They’d make sure he never saw the sky again. Not in this life, at least. Draco fell to his knees and dry heaved. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, and when he came to he was back in his goddamn cell.

_This is my home now._

 

May

He started hallucinating. At first it was just glimmers, a shadow Draco wasn’t sure was real. He could be dreaming, with no way to differentiate between sleep and reality. He was weak in body, weak of mind, and feeble in spirit. He laughed and thought, _Only two hundred thirty-eight months to go._ He blinked and the shadow disappeared. It was a sexless figure in a hood, but he caught a glance of wide brown eyes once. Eyes that saw far more than Draco wanted them to.

The shadow stayed. After a week, the visits grew longer. It had figured out the guards’ schedule, their rotation, and that they rarely paid Draco any mind. He asked it questions. _What are you here for? Am I dying? Is this Hell?_ The figure shook its head to the last two, not bothering to speak an answer to the first. It just stood there, watching him. Draco felt oddly self-conscious, vaguely aware of his weight loss and how sunken every part of him must look.

After three weeks of observation, the hooded figure brought a gift. He knew it was a gift because there was a tiny green bow on top. The shadow grabbed his hand and pressed the box into his palm. Draco would know the feel of a chocolate frog box anywhere, but he was struck by the slightness of her hands. They were delicate, female, and somehow really fucking familiar. He said as much aloud and she vanished. Draco sank back onto his bed and jumped as a guard walked past. He glared at Draco, whose chocolate frog pack was digging into his ass.

“Hands up, 425,” he demanded. They all knew his name, they just preferred to call him by the number to make him forget what he was worth. Draco raised his hands up and the guard seemed satisfied. Later that night. Or morning. Hell, maybe it was the afternoon when he finally opened up his chocolate frog. It croaked _Ribbit!_ then scampered away. It leapt out between the bars and Draco groaned. He was too weak to catch a bloody chocolate frog. For the best, really, he probably couldn’t have chewed it all. The guards would have been suspicious if he threw up chocolate because he couldn’t keep down something so sweet. Which begged the question …

_How is any of this is real?_

 

June

It wasn’t quite so cold and Draco shook less at night. The hooded figure was there every day, and when she lingered Draco felt like perhaps he could get through twenty years. If someone out there believed in him, if someone out there thought he didn’t deserve this, perhaps there was a reason to live. She never said anything, just kept bringing him food. No more frogs, but smaller things. Warm bread with butter. A goblet of Butterbeer. Then, his personal favourite, a piping hot plate of chips. He hugged her after that meal.

She was so tiny. All that she allowed him to see was the lower half of her face. Pale skin and red lipstick, so he wondered whether she had been on a date and just decided to pop in. Draco hoped her boyfriend knew how goddamn fortunate he was. He said as much aloud and got a chuckle. She began leaving things with him, smaller things he could hide beneath the mattress. At first it was a quill, then a jar of ink, then parchment. He requested paint and she scoffed at him.

“Well if you want to bring me things, they should be things I want,” he insisted. She brought him the rainbow over the next seven days. He stuffed purple underneath the mattress and pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and for the first time in years, Draco Malfoy felt something like happiness. Then she pushed him away. He saw the guard turn to run and watched as the hooded figure pulled out her wand.

“OBLIVIATE!”

The guard fell to the floor, bumfuzzled. He started asking questions that Draco couldn’t hear, because before him stood Hermione Granger. Hair pulled back, shoulders heaving with the effort of altering someone’s memory. She turned back around, her eyes still wild with the thrill of being caught and her cloak swishing around her ankles. Draco didn’t know what to say.

“I hear how they speak about you. I know what they want to do to you, how they hope you wind up dying in obscurity. You may be an ass, Draco Malfoy, but you don’t deserve this and I am going to get you out.”

Draco laughed. What else could he do? God, the ridiculousness of it all! He had fallen for his own mind tricks. Of course his saviour would be Hermione Granger. Of course he would have all the things he wanted. Chips and paint and chocolate frogs? Fucking hell. He doubled-over in laughter and collapsed onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling and said,

_“Now I know I’m dreaming.”_

 

July

“Let’s pretend, for a moment, that you are real.”

“For the hundred and seventy-second time, Malfoy, I am real.”

“Then what is happening in the outside world?” he asked. “I lose track of the days … How long have I been here?”

“Four months.”

_Two hundred thirty-six to go._

“I suppose everyone’s forgotten about me, then.”

“Quite the opposite,” Granger said, shaking her head. “You are in the _Prophet_ every week. Minister Shacklebolt is working to get you a new trial. The Ministry had a weeklong strike after the sentencing and your father paid the wages of everyone who walked out. It’s the one good thing that bastard’s ever done! The public doesn’t like you, Draco, but we never wanted this.”

“Do not get my hopes up, Granger. This was always destined to happen and we both know it. Now, I have something I want you to do for me.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t real,” she challenged. Draco chuckled to himself, because that was something she would say. Had he really paid so much attention to Granger over the past ten years to make hallucinations this convincing? The answer was a resounding yes.

“Prove it to me, then, and give this to Theo—Theodore Nott,” he said. Granger rolled her eyes and swiped the stack of parchment from his hands.

“I know who Theo is you arrogant—Wow, these are quite good.” The smile on her face widened as she flipped through the sheets of parchment. “ _The Chocolate Frog Who Escaped_? You could work on the title but these illustrations are quite impressive, Draco. Merlin on high, I wondered what you wanted the paints for but I never anticipated you would write a book. Why am I giving these to Nott?”

“Because I want to do something for my godchildren,” Draco answered. Hermione got a strange look on her face, a mixture of shock and befuddlement. “If I have been here four months, that means the twins will be two years old in a few weeks. If I still had my wand I could make these into a proper book, but they—” Draco paused as his voice cracked. He took a deep breath and said, “They snapped it at my sentencing so if you could … I would appreciate it, is all.” He crossed his arms, feeling a bit vulnerable.

Granger placed the parchment sheets on the floor, confirmed they were all in order, then pulled out her wand. She waved her wand over the parchment and when she picked up the finished book it had a hard cover and the parchment pieces were all one size. Draco smiled.

_“Thank you for everything, Granger.”_

 

August

She never went away. Quite to the contrary, she showed up more frequently. Sometimes twice a day, or what she said was twice a day; Draco had no way of knowing. He could eat three pieces of toast at a time and she brought him the most delicious apple he’d ever eaten. She took one look at him devouring it and asked,

“Do they even feed you?”

“Not for weeks,” Draco answered with a shrug. “They used to taint my food, so I’d rather they not give me any at all. They drop off water once every few days but they stopped coming by otherwise.”

Hermione just shook her head. She conjured a mirror and Draco recoiled at what he saw reflected. Merlin, he was skeletal. If Granger hadn’t been brining him food, he’d likely be dead. Hell, it looked like he already was. His hair wasn’t as shiny and it grazed his shoulders, but his whole face was sunken. His eyes were droopy and the circles beneath them were more pronounced than even sixth year when he didn’t sleep for days on end.

“I didn’t speak for you at your trial when I should have,” Granger admitted. “The Wizengamot could not have gone against both me and Harry, but I thought he would be enough. I didn’t want to talk about everything that happened so it is my responsibility to get you out of here.”

“Get me out?” Draco asked. “Like a new trial?”

“No,” Hermione said, “I am going to help you escape.”

Which was fair; a new trial would end the same way. The Wizengamot had never overturned a sentence and no way in hell would they start with Draco Malfoy. He shrugged and thought that even if it was all in his head a little hope may do him some good. Might keep him alive a little longer. He knew the guards expected him to be dead already and he would live just to spite them.

“Well how hard can it be?” He meant it to be facetious, but for Hermione Granger? If anyone could get him out, it would be her. “If you are real then you are getting in here somehow.”

“The difficult part is not getting in, Draco, no one cares who comes in. You’d have to be mad to come here of your own volition.”

“I always thought you were a bit touched in the head,” he quipped.

“And I always thought you were an ass, so we’re both correct,” she countered. “The guards know every exit. I have searched and searched for a way, read every book I can think to get my hands on, and I haven’t been able to logic my way through it yet. But I will!” she added, catching sight of Draco’s forlorn expression.

“I, um, I would prefer to be alone now,” Draco said. Granger nodded and handed him an envelope from inside her cloak. She said it was from Theo and he opened it once she faded away. There was a small photograph inside and Draco sobbed looking at it. He stared until the colours blended together and he placed it beneath the mattress for safe keeping. It was a picture of Theo’s wife, Tracey, huddled with the twins on a sofa while reading his book. Theo had written a note on the back. “We won’t forget about you,” he promised.

_Now I have something to live for._

 

September

“Where the hell did you get that?!”

One of the guards caught Draco staring at his photograph. His cell door clanged against the wall as the guard forced it open. He leaned down to where Draco was huddled in the corner and used his pudgy fingers to rip the picture from Draco’s grasp. Draco reached for it but received a hand around his throat for the trouble. The guard slammed Draco’s head against the wall and he winced. The guard shouted at him, but Draco just laughed. The guard asked why, and kicked Draco when he received no answer.

“Y-you … You can see it,” Draco said. He smiled and groaned. “You can see it.”

“You’re fucking mad,” the guard said as he walked out, careful to lock the door behind him.

Granger came later that day. She knelt in front of him since Draco hadn’t felt fit enough to stand. She pressed her fingertips against the bruises forming on his throat and he winced.

“Sorry!” she shouted, before clapping a hand over her mouth. Draco told her not to worry because there were three cells between him and the next prisoner. Granger sighed and insisted, “You are brave to keep fighting back.”

“Everyone believes they are strong until their face hits the ground,” he countered.

“Well it certainly looks like your face hit something,” Granger said. “I could apply for clemency based on wrongful treatment.”

“No.”

“Draco they are starving you!”

“No one would believe it, and they would just go back to serving me shit on a tray.”

“What can I do?” she asked, water building in the corners of her eyes. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“Get me out.”

Whatever Draco expected in reply, it certainly wasn’t for Hermione to lean forward and kiss him. It was just a moment, the lightest brush of lips before she pressed their foreheads together.

“I will get you out of here,” she promised.

Draco wrapped one hand around the back of her neck to pull her close and snog her properly. She closed her eyes and felt Hermione grin against his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He knew his mouth must have tasted something awful, what with Azkaban not being fond of toothpaste. But goddamn, Hermione Granger felt so real against him, so alive. They heard footsteps in the distance and she trailed kisses along his jaw and down his neck until she disappeared entirely.

_Now I have something to live for._

 

October

That was the month Draco really began to see her. She snogged him again a couple times, but nothing like that first one. He did not hold her. Draco wanted to be stronger next time he took her into his arms. Strong enough so she would stop looking at him like a piece of glass that would break if touched the wrong way. Hermione brought him full meals, no longer worried about being caught since the guards presumed Draco had lost his mind. Hell, sometimes even he believed it.

But Hermione Granger was real. She stopped wearing the cloak and stopped pulling her hair back, so she looked like Hermione Granger again. She took to reading in his cell and brought books for him to go over as well. He could tell she was onto something but wasn’t certain what it could be. Best to leave her to it since he would just muck it up anyway. She asked questions and occasionally translated runes for him. It was so comfortable that Draco began to consider Hermione a friend. When he said as much, she just smiled coyly and turned a page in her book.

Granger had great tits. He never noticed before, but she started wearing low-cut jumpers and jeans. He may be worse for wear, but he certainly wasn’t blind. Hermione’s eyes were always wide open, like she was trying to analyze every part of her surroundings. A habit leftover from the war, he supposed. Draco already knew what her lips felt like against his own, but wondered how they would look around his—

“Malfoy, you’re staring at me,” she said. Draco shook his head and apologized.

“Sorry, I just got lost in you for a moment.”

If he didn’t know better, he would say Hermione was blushing. Her gaze never left the pages in front of her, but she smiled softly. Draco considered that a win. She was beautiful like that, with her nose in a book, scrunched up every time she had to reread a line. There was a quill stuck in her hair from earlier and a smudge of ink along her jaw. Draco’s heart did a flip when she finally looked up to catch him staring yet again.

Hermione kissed him on Halloween. A real one, with Draco’s hand resting against the part of her neck that joined to the shoulder. A proper teeth-clacking snog that left him with bruised lips and a very prominent problem in his pants. As she faded away once again, Draco said,

_“Thank you for everything, Granger.”_

 

November

He went on a walk again. The guards eyed him suspiciously. They asked how he filled out and how he regained his sanity. Draco kept his mouth shut since words would only incriminate him. He caught the briefest glimpse of his face in the mirror as they passed the guards’ bathroom. He looked like himself again, thanks to Hermione Granger. He felt like himself, too. He wouldn’t be winning any fights, but Draco was no longer the skeleton Hermione met on her first visit.

He held her again on the sixteenth. She had been studying on his bed, book open on her lap as Draco gently tugged on one of her curls. She absentmindedly leaned into him, so Draco took the opportunity to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She hummed approvingly as her fingers ghosted over the lines of her book.

“What do you want when you escape?” she asked.

Draco thought about it for a moment before answering, “First, I want to see my family, then I want to see the sky. It is hell in here, not knowing when days pass, when to sleep, or even if it’s raining. I hated the rain, but now I miss being able to hate it.”

Hermione laughed and tossed her book onto the floor. Draco frowned, it wasn’t like her to be so careless with books. Then she turned to kiss him. It was long, neither of them pulling away for several moments until Hermione knelt on the floor in front of him. Draco chuckled and said,

“Best not do that to your knees or your friends will get the wrong idea about what you are doing here.”

“Or the right one,” she countered. The look on her face alone was enough to rouse his dick from its lengthy slumber. He lifted his bum so she could pull his trousers down and his knickers quickly followed. Hermione wasted no time, leaning forward to lick straight up the underside of his dick. Draco slammed his head back against the wall and demanded Hermione keep going. He didn’t want her to be quick about it, but this was one position in which Draco did not wish to be caught.

It had been so goddamn long since Draco even thought about sex. He warned Hermione he would not last long and she muttered something unintelligible. He laughed until her tongue pressed against that spot just on the underside of the head. Draco would be grateful if he lasted another sixty seconds. Granger slowly took more down her throat, working open until she was down to the hilt. Draco had his hand in her hair, guiding her up and down until he stopped her at just the right spot and thrust up one final time as he came. He fisted his free hand inside his mouth to curtail the shout that escaped him.

Granger pulled back with an audible _pop!_ She stood and smiled, then wiped a lingering bit of come from the corner of her lip. Draco was suddenly exhausted and his pillow looked very tempting. Hermione laughed and said,

“Put your trousers back on. Don’t want the guards to come in and find you with your pants around your ankles.”

Draco yawned and said, “Shouldn’t I reciprocate? You are doing so much for me already.”

“You can repay me once you’re home,” she countered with a wink.

_Now I know I’m dreaming._

 

December

Draco Malfoy was in love with Hermione Granger. It was a rather gradual realization that began when she told him about the snow. Hermione liked making snowmen and even had special scarves for the occasion. She liked looking out the window of her flat to see undisturbed white snow blanketing the streets. Merlin’s arse, Draco would have given anything to see the streets of London one more time.

She spent the night with him on Christmas Eve. She brought in a small tree with a little star on top, and even made it snow. Draco laughed and wondered how the hell fortune had smiled upon him in that god-forsaken cell. The guards were mostly off drinking in their recreation area and the shouts of “Twelve Days of Christmas” could be heard throughout the compound.

Draco was the big spoon, keeping Hermione between himself and the wall should any guards decide to walk by. Hermione twined their fingers together and stared at the wall as Draco subtly tried to get bits of her hair out of his mouth.

“How can you survive this?” she asked. “Doing nothing but waiting for a day so far in the future it is impossible to see.”

“I would have died months ago without you, Granger,” Draco admitted.

“Are we back to ‘Granger’ now?”

“Hermione.”

“Better.”

“Truly, I never expected to last long. I walked past the graveyard once and knew I would waste away there with no one to carry on the memory of me. Then you came and saved me.”

She turned around to kiss him and said, “I would do it all again.”

They fell asleep like that, with Hermione’s breath warm against Draco’s neck. He loved feeling her against his chest. She was more alive than anyone he had ever met. Hermione Granger was the sort of person who would keep going through anything, unstoppable and immortal in spirit. They woke up the next morning and Hermione said she left presents beneath the bed. She began to fade away and Draco blurted out a sleepy,

“I love you!”

“I love you too, Draco Malfoy. Happy Christmas.”

_How is any of this real?_

 

January

She appeared out of nowhere as Draco reread his letters. He glanced up as she walked toward him.

“Five … four … three … two … one …” She counted aloud. Hermione leaned down for one lengthy kiss before fading away again. “Happy new year.”

She disappeared for weeks afterward. Draco didn’t know if it had been one, two, or three. He told time in terms of Hermione and without her days ceased to matter.

Her Christmas presents to him were letters from his friends and family. Theo’s included another photo of the twins and some drawings they had done. One was Draco appearing to break out of his prison cell while riding a dragon. He laughed because Hermione had sort of beaten him to that one. Blaise sent a whole essay, revealing he was apprenticing as an assistant to Riley Willingham, the best attorney in Wizarding England. Blaise promised to never stop fighting for Draco’s freedom. Pansy sent a card and some porn. His parents had written as well, which meant more to him than anything. Not that they had written, but that Hermione had told them she could smuggle letters. That Hermione had willingly spoken to his parents at all was nothing short of a miracle.

She reappeared on January 28th. Something about her was different. Draco had never seen her smile quite like that. She ran across the cell and pulled him down by the collar to snog him. Draco reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically for a moment, before pushing her back and asking why the hell she had been away so long.

“I figured it out!” she said. “I know how to get you out of here, you just have to trust me.”

“Never doubt that I do,” Draco insisted. “How are you going to—”

“No,” Hermione insisted, shaking her head. “I need you to trust me.” She hugged him tightly and faded away again. The warmth of her against him never quite left, though. He smiled and thought about how Hermione felt against him. Merlin on high, he owed her his life. Given the opportunity, he would spend forever at her side proving she made the right decision.

_She is my home now._

 

February

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Hermione had reappeared with a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Draco hungrily went after them, popping three into his mouth in rapid succession. Hermione’s face lost some of its colour.

“Oh, I should have mentioned I dosed these with Draught of Living Death so maybe go easy on the …”

Whatever she said afterward faded away. The entire world faded away as he fell back onto his bed. He reached up for Hermione as she leaned close to his ear and said,

“I promise we’ll get you out of here, Draco. I love you, and I promise when you wake up you will have exactly what you want.”

He was dying. Draco felt himself lose control of his body before falling into a deep sleep. It was alright, he reasoned. Life could have ended in worse places than Hermione Granger’s arms.

…

Then he woke up.

“OH MY GOD!” Draco recognized that voice. It sounded like his father. Draco blinked his eyes open and squinted at the bright light of whatever room he’d been placed in.

“Am I dead?” he croaked out.

“No, my son, you are not!”

Draco sat up immediately and saw his mother at the foot of his bed. He didn’t have the words in English or in French to say what needed to be said. “I miss you!” and “I love you!” and “Are you sure I’m not dead?!” all came out as:

“MUM!” He hugged her fiercely, determined never to let go. He nodded at his father over her shoulder and cried. “I’m not in Azkaban,” he realized aloud.

“No, you are not,” Father said.

Draco finally released his hold on his mother and asked, “Where am I?”

“You are home, my son,” she said, placing her hands on his cheeks. “You are back at the manor where you belong and Merlin himself could not take you away from me again.”

“I’m home?” he repeated. His mother nodded and Draco frowned. “Where is Hermione?”

“The Granger girl?” Father asked. “She is out in the gardens, waiting for you to wake up. I’ll have one of the elves fetch her—”

“No!” Draco insisted. “I want to go to her alone.”

The walk through Malfoy Manor was strange. He had been gone a year and nothing about the house had changed. It was the same hallways, the same portraits, and the same furniture. Draco just felt differently in it. He appreciated the walls that had so much life in them, and a house that promised him a full life, too. It had always been his home, but Draco was suddenly desperate to live in it.

He shivered as he walked out to the gardens. It took five minutes of walking before he spotted Hermione sitting on a bench. She did not so much as flinch when he sat next to her.

“How did you manage it?”

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy,” she quipped without malice. Draco laughed.

“I swear I thought I was dying.”

“You mentioned the graveyard to me over Christmas, do you remember?” He nodded so Hermione continued. “I knew that would be our way out, but it took me weeks to figure out how. Then four more weeks to brew the Draught of Living Death. I couldn’t buy it, of course, that would leave a paper trail. Once you ‘died,’ you should have been buried in the Azkaban graveyard. However, Harry and I sent special requests to Minister Shacklebolt, who agreed that your body should be interred with the rest of the Malfoy family in the mausoleum here at Malfoy Manor.”

Draco smiled and said, “You are a genius, Hermione Granger.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she replied. Draco leaned forward to kiss her ever so lightly, just like their first. She smiled and amended, “It’s the sixteenth now, but this was supposed to be your Valentine’s Day present.”

“Fuck the fourteenth, Hermione, I will love you every day.”

“Mmmhmm … I like the sound of that, Draco Malfoy,” she teased. “I promised you would have everything you wanted to see when you woke up.” Draco looked up to see the night sky for the first time in three hundred forty-five days. Hermione leaned against his shoulder on the bench, just as she had done so many times before on his prison bed. Draco smiled and said,

“ _Thank you, Hermione. I just wanted to see the stars again._ ”


End file.
